A Memorable Day

A Memorable Day
-- by Ayana Elizabeth Johnson
Walking through meadow and forest and mud, helping and being helped across
streams, looking at lakes, stars and trees, smelling pines and horses, and generally traveling through a half-seen world, all happened before four A.M. The ten of us stopped near a waterfall to absorb the beauty of the rising sun. The sky was on fire
before the embers died out and only the blues and yellows remained. I saw the
beams of the sun slide down from the sky and into a meadow, and felt my happiness
slide down my cheeks. To the sky I sang my thanks.
As our journey to the Grand Pyramid continued, I met new flowers. At the base of its
peak, I looked up with excitement, and then out for stability. Intimidated and yet determined, I started to crawl up the mountain. I found geodes, and that big rocks aren't always stable. I wasn't alone, but I was climbing by myself. At the top, the four of us who had continued from the base were greeted by the beauty of needle peaks and mountain ranges and miles of a clear view in every direction, without the
bitterly cold winds and the fear of heights I had expected would be there too. There
was simply nature and sunshine and friendship, and the elation they bring.
Balloons were blown up and attached to me. People danced around me and shouted, and a smile I couldn't control burst forth.
On the way down, instead of tears of joy that had accompanied the sunrise, there
were songs of joy, and I thought. I realized that the rewards and thrills and
memories are in the journey and not in reaching the destination. I had believed this before and even said it out loud, but this was different. I looked at everything along the way. I stopped and rested and attempted to etch each different view into my memory. The hackneyed phrase of "enjoying every step along the way" was something I lived, and as a result I felt richer than I had ever been. I promised myself that this lesson I would never forget, but as I was descending from the highest point to which I'd ever journeyed, my thoughts too returned to a more
pragmatic level. I remembered that each journey in my life wouldn't be as
challenging or exciting or rewarding as this one had been; nevertheless, it is the flowers and geodes and smiles and balloons that make the journey worthwhile.
I had only been singing for myself and for the mountains, but everyone had heard
me, and, when I reached the bottom, I was greeted with congratulations and
laughter – after all, I did have balloons tied to me.
And the journey continued. The waterfall we had only really heard before day-break
was now visible, and I was convinced to jump in and make it tangible too. I plunged my head under its torrential flow, only to receive a headache from its coldness as a
reward for my boldness. I removed my-then-numbered-self from the water and was
lacing up my boots when it began to hail. I had been wishing that snow would fall on
this August day, but hail was close enough. The few of us who had braved the
waterfall then ran to catch the group in the forest before the imminent thunderstorm arrived.
I saw in the daylight what I had (or rather hadn't) seen in the moonlight. The
streams we had helped each other cross in the dark were no more than rivulets
through a field in the light. The mysterious woods were turned serene by the rays of
the sun, and I thought of the great chasm that often exists between appearance and
reality. The mud puddles that had been obstacles were now only another detail of the landscape, and I thought about things that are a challenge to me which others
find simple. The meadow where I had tripped while trying to star-gaze and walk,
became a place to cloud – gaze and wonder at the storm, and I thought of the many ways different people can appreciate the same thing.
The humbling thunder approached. It growled. Suddenly, the frighteningly beautiful
companion of the thunder struck a hill not so far ahead of us. A friend, the only other
person who had seen it, and I ran screaming and laughing into the trees, but knew we would be all right because we were together.
A trek by moonlight, a sky on fire, leaking eyes, 13,851feet up, balloons, geodes, songs, icy waterfalls, hail and lightning were my seventeenth birthday. ANAYLYSIS
This easy is effective because it carries the metaphor of the journey of life from the
climb up the mountain all the way through. The essay is well organized and
structured, designed to represent the reconstruction of the author's exciting day, starting with her initial reaction to the scenery to her elation of finishing at the end. Each paragraph, though varied in length, tells a part of the journey and a change in
the author's growing perspective on life.
The author uses a lot of active description, which the reader can easily relate to and
almost experience a part of her journey. Phrases such as "only to receive a headache from its coldness as a reward for my boldness," speak poignantly because
the reader can almost feel the sting of the dip in the waterfall. The comparison between daylight and moonlight also works well because it allows the writer a
chance to demonstrate her ability to describe contrast.
The reader may be slightly disoriented by the lack of context for the story, as we are not told where the author is or why she is climbing a mountain. However, through the carefully controlled description the author reveals her reflective nature and personal realization as she ascends and descends the mountain, hence, showing the
parallel physical and emotional progression. Her concluding sentence, though not particularly poignant, serves as a strong summary of a well-written piece.
A night Unforgotten
By Frederick Antwi
An hour before the commencement of the personality contest, I deposited my bag carefully in a corner of the changing room. From my vantage point, I could see the muscular seniors comparing their lovely three-piece suits and musing about which
one of them would win the title. A bony, stuttering junior with no suit and no new shoes, I swallowed hard and resolved to give the pageant my best shot. Since the
first round of the program was a parade in traditional wear, I nervously pulled out my kente, draped the beautifully woven red and yellow fabric around my thin frame, pinned on my "contestant number five" badge and hurried to take my place in line.
Wishing hopelessly that my mother was among the spectators and not working in
some hospital in a foreign country, I stepped out onto the polished wooden stage.
Immediately, one thousand two hundred curious eyes bore into me. My cheeks
twitched violently, my throat constricted and my knees turned to jelly. I fought for
control. Bending my arms slightly at the elbows, I strutted across the stage in the
usual fashion of an Asante monarch and mercifully made it back to the changing room without mishap. The crowd erupted into a frenzied cheer. As I returned for the
"casual wear" round, something magical happened.
It was singular emotion that no words can describe. It began as an aching,
beautifully tenderness in the pit of my stomach, gradually bubbling into my chest, filling me with warmth and radiance, melting away all the tension. Slowly, it effervesced into my mouth, onto my tongue and into words. As I spoke to the crowd
of my pastimes and passions, words of such silky texture poured out from my soul
with unparalleled candor and cadence. The voice that issued from my lips was at once richer, deeper, stronger than I had ever produced. It was as though an inner
self, a core essence, had broken free and taken control. Severed from reality, I
floated through the remainder of that remarkable evening.
One hour later, the baritone of the presenter rang out into the cool night air. "Mr. GIS
Personality 1993, selected on the basis of confidence, charisma, cultural reflection,
style, eloquence, wit and originality, is Contestant number…"
"Five! One! Five! Five!" roared the electrified crowd.
My heart pounded furiously. My breathing reduced to shallow gasps.
"Contestant number five!" exploded the presenter in confirmation.
For a few sacred moments, time stopped. My ears screamed, and my lower jaw, defying the grip of my facial muscles, dropped like a draw-bridge. Then I rushed forward, bear-hugged the presenter and embraced everyone else I could lay my hands on! Amidst the tumult, the Manager of KLM Airlines mounted the stage,
presenting me with a meter-long Accra-Amsterdam-London return ticket. As I stood
brandishing my sky-blue cardboard ticket, posing shamelessly for the cameras and
grinning sheepishly at the throng, a pang of regret shot through me. If only my mother could have been in that crowd to witness and indeed be a part of this most poignant of all memories.
ANALYSIS
" The unusual experience" is a staple of college entrance essays, but in this case the
experience is truly unusual-a personality contest for men. It's also interesting to see
Antwi's transformation from shy to superstar. Antwi concentrates on a fixed event in time and uses it to show the spectrum of his personality-shy, confident, excited,
lonely- in an amusing and entertaining way.
It's no wonder Antwi won the contest. He's a great storyteller. He has an acute sense
of detail-"one thousand and two hundred curious eyes," "the fashion of an Asante
monarch"-and is good at heightening drama. The essay is also upbeat and fun to read.
It would have been nice to know what Antwi said in the third paragraph instead of simply reading about the "unparalleled candor and cadence" with which he spoke.
Also, Antwi does not explain the what, where, or why of the contest, which are all
important to know. Overall, however, his personality shines through as stellar.